


The Best of Us

by emmacortana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Insecurity, Peter Parker Misses Tony Stark, Peter Parker and Tony Stark don't have a perfect relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmacortana/pseuds/emmacortana
Summary: It is the day of Tony Stark's funeral, Peter is roaming around the lake house, knowing he doesn't belong.
Relationships: Ben Parker & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	The Best of Us

**Author's Note:**

> this is not my best work. in fact, this is a spiel i wrote at 7:30 am which seems not that bad until you realize i didn't sleep at all for the night. I was just thinking about how we love Tony and Peter having a close father-son relationship—believe me, I am the first to jump aboard that train—but like, their relationship wasn't perfect. We don't even know if they were close. And a lot of people have toyed with Peter feeling as if he was replaced by Morgan, and also the validity of that feeling, and that is aNOTHER thing that I rlly think about sometimes. But I kinda just wanted to take a step back and think, like, Tony and Peter have both tried to reach out to each other in their own ways, and each one missed the mark. They're so different from each other, on the one hand, it feels like Tony only cares about Spider-man as low-leagues hero, as a sort of side project, whereas on the other, Peter only cares about Iron Man as the big-leagues hero, someone to look up to and hero-worship. And yeah, this isn't the complete truth. Tony does care about Peter, he's just not great at showing it sometimes. And Peter does see more than "Iron Man" when he looks at Tony Stark. But it still feels like they're just two parallel lines with only occasionally crosses with each other, before just going off alone again. And I wanted to play with that a little.
> 
> This is the opposite of self-indulgent, tbqh, and I don't think it will do well bc like who wants to read a fic about tony and peter that's not them being close father-son? like I sure as hell don't. but I also thought it was important to recognize that their relationship is not perfect. There are so many holes. And I just wanted to play with that.

_"I chopped down some trees and I built a small house, and I just might be small enough to live in it."_

It is the day of Tony Stark's funeral, Peter is roaming around the lake house, and he doesn't belong.

Peter never represented domesticity in Tony’s life. He didn’t represent warmth and love, the feeling of home, a family crowded around a kitchen table, acutely aware of one another in the way that only family could be. A lake-house with matching furniture.

No, Peter’s life was May. Coming home to May, loving May, being cared for by May. Soft kisses on the forehead, even though they were about the same height now. Tucking himself into her as best he could, the way he did when he was a kid. The respectful quiet surrounding Ben, that neither of them really approached, but acknowledged together in silence. It was take-out ordered after burnt meals, homework in the living room as May watched some kitschy soap opera, half-mumbled yelling in Italian that somehow always sounded loving. Peter’s life, it was May and it was the absence of Ben. It was Ned’s lego Death Star on Peter’s bookshelf. A gift for Michelle tucked far underneath his bed. A metal cookie tin full of happy birthday cards he’d received from Mr Delmar, Cindy Moon, Betty Brant, and even a couple begrudging ones from Flash.

It was the apartment May worked double-time to keep, because Ben had hated the ugly greenish ivory of the walls so much, and if the Parkers didn’t live there, then who else would know to hate that sickly shade? It was the futon that his grandfather left a ketchup stain on, back when he was alive. A dresser full of Peter’s nerdy science-jokes t-shirts, that still held witness marks from the sharp hangers that used to hold sharp suits and silk ties. Three chairs arranged around a rectangular dining table, one from a different set than the others, the one that Peter always sat in.

It was a pair of wedding rings neatly tucked into a flimsy box and away into his drawer, engraved with the names of two strangers, and an empty suitcase that was very worn despite having been rarely used. That was Peter’s life.

Spider-man’s life was flying as fast as he could for the rush of blood in his veins. Stepping in front of danger for entirely selfish reasons. The disconnect between his mind and body but the utter completion of his own self. Spider-man was catching cars from crashing into each other, stopping robberies before they can even begin, letting some people who made some bad choices go, because if Spider-man couldn’t give them a second chance, who could? That was who he was to Tony Stark—just Spider-man.

Maybe Spider-man was more to Peter Parker, though. Maybe Spider-man was the slightly-bruised apple pressed into his hand after carrying groceries for a neighbour he pretends not to recognize. Maybe Spider-man was the little unicorn sticker stuck on the sidewalk of East and 24th by a little girl waiting with him for her parents to come back. Maybe Spider-man was a skinny, asthmatic kid with thick-rimmed glasses and ears too big for his face, and all the sadness he felt, and the anger, and the fear. But that was what Peter tucked into himself, tucked into Peter Parker. That wasn’t who he was to Mr. Stark. Spider-man was a lot of things, but to Tony Stark, he was a side project. He was uncertainty. He was a stupid kid fucking up real bad, and Tony Stark needing to fix it. It was Tony Stark fucking up maybe just as much. It was forced trips into space, the instability of the near-future, and at the very end, it was death.

One temporary, one permanent.

It wasn't love. No, Tony didn't love Peter. He felt responsibility for Spider-man. And maybe there was debt there, and guilt, and even care. But not love. They barely knew each other.

No, there would be no space in Tony Stark’s life for Spider-man, even if Tony Stark was alive. And, as an extent, there was no space for Peter Parker in the little cabin by the lake.

Consequently, there was no place for Tony Stark in Peter Parker’s life.

Peter Parker had four parental figures and only one to show for it. Peter Parker had one-and-a-half friends, and a couple more it’s-complicateds. Peter Parker had Ben’s smile ingrained in his mind like a bruise, and his last words carved into his ribs. _“I love you,”_ he said. _“I love May. You were everything. Love each other the best you can. Peter, you’re gonna be the best of us.”_

Peter Parker was the half-remembered crinkle in the eyes of his mother, who he thinks had warm brown eyes and a soft face, all murky as if a dream. Peter Parker was the only time he’d heard his father cry in his life, when he was four, Uncle Ben visiting alone late into the night to support his brother. Peter Parker was the drunken words said by Richard to his son, lurking around like an uncertain ghost, _“It’s just us now, huh, Pete? Just us and Ben. The last of the Parkers. That’s the Parker Luck. The goddamned Parker Luck.”_

Peter Parker was the rushed kisses and hugs from his parents as they dropped him off at Ben and May’s. The bloody clothes he showered in that night with Ben. Peter Parker was a cheap Iron Man helmet, empty, utterly empty, and that’s all.

No, there was no place in Peter’s life for Tony Stark.

The reality was they were different in life, and that had never been more clear than as when Peter walked through the small lake-house with matching furniture. There were so many reasons why, there was almost no point in listing them all. Peter was Peter, and occasionally Spider-man, and Tony was Tony, and sometimes Iron Man. Tony Stark was brazen where Peter Parker was kind, and Peter Parker was hungry when Tony Stark was soft. Each table and chair and dresser and stand was lovingly picked out and arranged into their perfect home.

Peter wasn’t worth the upgrade from a multi-million-dollar mansion to a 5000 feet patch of land with only 50 of it inside. He was worth a small picture frame propped up by the kitchen.

He was afraid if he sat on one of the expensively worn, velvet couches, the legs would shatter and the matching love seat would crumble to dust.

Maybe, there was a point when Tony Stark tried to find a place in Peter Parker’s life. To “break the cycle of shame” after all. But he didn’t do it very well, if Peter had to be honest, and Peter wasn’t exactly great either. So they went their separate ways again.

They were like sine waves, Peter thought. Singing the same old song again and again, occasionally meeting up briefly before setting their way again. They’d only met up four times, now. There would not be a fifth.

Maybe there could’ve been a small space for Spider-man in Tony Stark’s life, and a small space for Iron Man in Peter Parker’s. But it was too late for that, and the funeral was about to begin.

After this, a second, smaller session would be held, in which Tony's last words would be imparted in the living room. Peter was not invited.

Peter walked through the house again, still acutely feeling the discomfort of unbelonging, towards the back of the house where Happy was calling everyone to. Most of the doors were open, which was strange. Still, nobody snooped in any of them. They wouldn’t dare. Instead, all of them wandered around like empty ghosts, maybe also trying to find a piece of the house to take with them in their mind. Little pieces of Tony in his carpet, in his silverware. Selfishly looking for proof that they loved and were loved by him.

Peter passes by a room with a closed door, suddenly opening as he walked past. The hot pink wallpaper he could see in the room clashed horribly with the muted brown-ivory theme of the rest of the house. The bed frame had crayon drawings on it. There was a small, round table, with two chairs of different heights, one wooden, one plastic.

A little girl steps out of the room. She has Tony’s eyes. She doesn’t bother closing the door behind her. He can see a kid’s dresser, an awful green colour, and a toy chest of true red and bright purple.

The little girl looks up at him with the solemn, brown eyes. Peter sees Tony in her, but he also doesn’t. She looks at him inquisitively, even distrustingly. He makes a decision.

Peter Parker holds out his hand to this girl from a different life, a different world, and smiles. “Hi. I’m Peter. I knew your dad, before.”

The girl hesitantly reaches out with a tiny hand to shake. Her stubby fingers are widely spaced apart. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s okay. Her furniture doesn’t match.

“I’m sorry about your dad. I think he loved you a lot,” he said, and the girl almost nods as if she agrees. _Smart_ , he thinks.

He lets her hand go, but Peter kneels down to look at her face level, trying his best not to search out little clues of Tony in her face. She’ll have enough of that in her life, she doesn’t need that now. Instead, he takes her in for all she is. She has brown hair, and brown eyes, and flushed cheeks that are muted by her black dress. She stares at him, wide eyed, taking him in too, he imagines. He was going to say something to her, but he can’t quite bring himself to. There’s a quiet understanding here.

He smiles, and he thinks about this little girl, who was worth moving into a small cabin by the lake, worth learning how to do dishes and vacuum rugs, worth the great Tony Stark’s peaceful retirement. He thinks about Morgan Stark, and he thinks about Peter Parker. And for the first time since he'd hazily come back from the dead, he doesn't think about Tony Stark.

He makes a move to stand up, to walk together outside to where the service will be held. As Morgan turns around, clearly waiting for him to follow, he looks at the back of her head and thinks to himself, _Kid, you’re gonna be the best of us._

**Author's Note:**

> Ok can you tell how I'm currently having severe joint pain, hopped up on painkillers, and losing all the sleep? i honestly don't even know what i wrote myself.
> 
> anyway, if u made it this far, good job, thanks. see u next time for some more self-indulgent, saccharine-sweet irondad fics. There's one I wrote half of like two years ago that I'm finally getting around to finishing bc i just forgot about it lmao. That one might be way more ppl's style. it'll certainly be more my style.
> 
> Byeee. if u leave a comment i would literally die for u.
> 
> (also the quote is from one of my fave bill wurtz songs "Might Quit." For such a memey artist, he sure does have some good lyrics.)


End file.
